


Unbalanced Scales

by NightFire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar isn't really an Adaar, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Culture, Dragon History, Dragons, Magic, Past Torture, Red Lyrium, Solas messed up the dragons too, he's a dragon, or he was
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFire/pseuds/NightFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark Moon was a dragon who was more than content to spend the rest of his many long years avoiding everyone. But plans fall apart as he awakens one day with a mark on his not so draconian hand, no memory of why he isn't a dragon, and a group of humans intent on making him their leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbalanced Scales

The first thing he notices is how wrong everything feels. His body sits folded in a way he knows should be uncomfortable but isn’t, his right foreleg aches yet he doesn’t remember being hurt, and he can’t seem to remember why he was asleep. He stays perfectly still, eyes closed, and breath steady to fake slumber for those near him. For now that he concentrates he can scent the people around him, hear as they shift uneasily in their metal plates. Humans he realizes, but they sound too big, closer to his size than the specks they should be. There are four of them, but he can smell the lingering scent of more passing through, and more nearby. He can also tell that they are terrified. Their hearts beat fast, they sweat, their movements are anxious, the air reeks of fear. Are they afraid to be so close to him?  _ They should be.  _ He thinks rather vindictively that they smell like prey and he is far too hungry. Yet why are they so close? He couldn’t feel the sun and sounds echoed as if he were inside a cavern. Was the cave he was in one of their nests? Had they captured him? Why couldn’t he remember?

An entrance opens in the cavern as two more humans stride in. He hears the sounds of activity beyond, and feels the cold wind before it closes again. One of the humans roughly grabs his injured forepaw and his eyes fly open. He bares his teeth, and a growl begins to build before pain lances up his foreleg and a green light shines from his… hand? The human dropped him when the pain came, but he barely notices as he gazes down at himself. They’re saying something to him about a lot of people dying, but he ignores it in favor of staring in horror at what should be scales and claws, but is instead skin and blunt nails.  _ I’m not me!  _ He tries to reach out with his magic, see why he was viewing the world through another's eyes, but turns up nothing. What he was seeing was really him. Smaller, weaker, non-draconian him. Suddenly the human is in his face again, grabbing the shackles around his wrists.

“Explain this.” It demands. He growls this time, teeth bared and lightning building in his throat. What did they do to him? “Tell me!” the human shouts at him, shaking him slightly. He nearly blasts it with lightning before the other swoops in and draws the angry one away.

“We need him Cassandra!” the quiet one says to the shouty one before turning back to him. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

He wants to growl at this one too, but it raises a valid point: What does he remember? His mind goes back and he can recall flying. The  _ unionsyth  _ had been more active near his territory and he wanted to investigate. Then….then?...

“Pain,” he says aloud. It comes out distorted and harsh, the strange language rough on his tongue. It takes him a moment to figure out how to make the correct movements for the right sounds. He wonders distantly if this weird form can even properly pronounce the language of dragons, he certainly couldn’t say  _ unionsyth  _ words as himself. “Pain,” he repeats with more assurance as to the right pronunciation. “I was...captured. Their magic hurt. The red stones made my mind fuzzy. I wasn’t right though. Something went wrong, a woman was screaming. I tried to help?...She pushed me through the green light.” The words came slowly but he gained steam as he continued. It had been some time since he had learned the language called common, not many  _ unionsyth _ talked to him normally. His memory however remained fogged as to how he had come to be in this bizarre situation.

“A woman?” the quiet one asks. It draws his attention as well. He can barely tell the  _ unionsyth  _ apart, how did he know the one from his terrible memory was female?

“Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take him to the rift,” the human called Cassandra says before coming over to him and exchanging the shackles for simple ropes.

“What is a rift?” he asks, watching its every move.

“It will be easier to show you,” it says, and helps him up. It’s satisfying to see he is still a good head taller than the human, but his smug superiority over his height is dashed as it begins to move forward and he almost falls flat on his face. This body might be suited to two legs, but his mind is not. The center of balance is all wrong, and he has no tail or wings to compensate. Thankfully the human catches him before he smashes into the ground. It eyes him in annoyance as he steadies himself on its shoulder, and tries to walk again. He is ungainly where he used to be graceful, but it will have to do for now.

The doors open before him and he stares out into the nest of humans. He can scent elves and dwarves as well, but very few. It is odd to see the structures up close and so large. However Cassandra is staring up into the sky and his gaze follows to see a churning green cloud spitting out debris. He can sense the  _ tu hwnt _ bleeding out into this plane and realizes in shock that what he is seeing is a tear in the world.

“We call it the breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” Cassandra says to him. 

“An explosion can do that?” He says with no small amount of surprise.

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallow the world.” Suddenly the breach pulses and the pain in his hand flares up again. He growls low in his throat at the pain, teeth clenching and fingers curling into a white knuckled fist. “Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” Cassandra states.

“I’ll do what I can, but when that thing is closed I need to know all you can tell me about how I got here,” he replies, staring into Cassandra’s eyes. It was odd for him to speak so much, and be spoken to. While a complete language in itself, the language of dragons was more of an added tool for detailed explanations. Most communication passed through nonverbal body cues and movements.

“I can tell you what I know on the way there. Be forewarned, I will not likely have the answers you want,” it replies before motioning for him to follow it through the nest. The people watch him and he can feel their anger. He stands straighter and glared at those that meet his eyes. 

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers.” He blinks in confusion at her words, not understanding several of them. What was a Chantry? And if this Justinia were a god how could she have died? He decided however to not voice his confusion. Best to seem normal to these people for as long as he can. Things might turn sour if they knew what he truly was. Humans had a bad habit of trying to kill dragons.

“It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.” Cassandra continues as they near the closed entrance to the nest. He hopes that at some point he can learn what all these words mean. What was a mage? What was a templar? More humans however move the heavy wood slabs out of the way, and he moves outside. To his surprise Cassandra was still talking. “We lash out like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed.” The human holds up a hand for him to stop and draws a knife. His eyes narrow dangerously as it comes closer, ready to strike if it does. However Cassandra simple cut the bonds that held his wrists. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come, your mark needs to be tested on something smaller than the breach.”

_ By my storms, this human talks a lot _ , he thinks as they walk up the path past more humans.  _ Or maybe all humans do?  _ he considers as even more ran by shouting. It seemed like such a waste of breath. Why use words when posture can show just as much? The pain in his hand starts up again and he growls loudly in discomfort, but keeps moving. Cassandra eyes him anxiously. 

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we face.” It starts talking again.

“Will you answer my question from before?” he asks. If it was going to talk, it should be about something useful.

“They said you stepped out of a rift. Then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you will see soon enough. That is all I know,” it replies. He huffs in annoyance and steps out onto the raised stone path. Suddenly a chunk of debris flies from the Breach and strikes the road ahead of him, shattering the stone and sending him and Cassandra tumbling down.

The muscles of his back stretch to spread his wings and keep him aloft as he fals. Yet without those appendages it felt more like his shoulder blades are trying to break out of his skin. He cries out at the sudden pain in his back and then his head as his horns strike the ground. As he stands back up, it suddenly occurs to him that he still has horns. He reaches up and runs a hand along them. Thankfully they are the shape they should be, and it explains why his head is balanced as he expects.  _ I must look like a qunari then,  _ he muses when suddenly two shades spring up out of the frozen lake.

Cassandra drew a blade on one and he almost launched himself bodily at the other before he realizes it wouldn't work. While sharp, his teeth and fingers are definitely not fangs and claws. Instead, he gathers lightning in his mouth and fires a ball of purple sparking magic that engulfs the shade. Cassandra cuts down the shade it had been facing at the same time his falls. Instead of lowering the blade however, it turns the weapon towards him.

“Drop your- you don't have a staff?”

“What-?” _Is a staff._ He decides to cut the thought off early. Cassandra narrows its eyes at him, clearly confused and annoyed. _What did I do that was so odd?_ It takes him a moment to remember that most _unionsyth_ usually concentrated their magic in a stick, not in their mouth. The human’s eyes flick behind him, and he follows its  gaze to see a stick lying among the debris of the stone path.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing at it. Cassandra was obviously wary of arming a prisoner, but nods grudgingly.

“There will likely be more demons and I cannot protect you. Nor can I expect you to be defenseless. But why didn't you grab it sooner?”

“I didn't see it,” he lies easily, reaching to pick up the stick and attaching it to the holder on his back. “I also fight better without one.” What good would a stick do anyway? Still, he took the stick to keep up appearances, and in case an enemy got too close he could smack them.

The human gave him another odd look, but they continues on down the path. They encounter several more groups of demons that he used to practice casting with his hands. It was certainly different. It makes his spells mostly harder to control and weaker, so he resolves to stick mostly with his breath attacks. 

“The others are fighting ahead, we must help them.” Cassandra urges him forward to the ruins of some old structure. Leaping down a short ledge he joins the fight with a shot of lightning that bowls over a shade about to strike a dwarf with an odd weapon. The fight is over quickly and once the last demon falls an elf steps forward and grabs his glowing hand. Holding it up to the rift, he feels the elf’s magic push against whatever magic has lodged in his hand and untangle it enough to work like a key to the rift.  _ How did it know how to do that? The magic involved is incredibly complicated and unique. It couldn’t have done anything unless…  _ “What did you do?”

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” The elf’s voice is smooth and steady yet he can hear its heart flutter in nervousness, while it’s muscles tense, and it shifts edgily. It was lying. He narrows his eyes in suspicion and almost opens his mouth to say ‘That wasn't what I was talking about.’ when the human speaks up.

“If it can close rifts, it may also be able to close the breach itself.” It says.

“If my theories are correct then hopefully yes.” The elf says to Cassandra before turning to him. “It seems you hold the the key to our salvation.” He blinks in surprise at the genuine fear he could scent on the elf. If it had caused the breach and the mark then why would it be afraid the mark couldn’t close the breach? Something else was at play here.

“Good to know! I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever,” the dwarf says, walking forward to stand closer to him, the human, and the elf. “Name’s Varric Tethras,” it introduces. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwanted tag along.” The dwarf blinks one eye at Cassandra who wrinkles her face up in an odd way. Her body language says annoyance, but her face just looks weird. Maybe it was a human expression? Her reaction however makes him wonder what the story behind those two is.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he replies formally with a little nod.

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.” The elf chuckles. He cocks his head in confusion.  _ Did no one like the dwarf?  _

“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”  _ Chuckles, Seeker? Was he just making up names for people? Do they not consider that rude? _

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra broke in. “Your help is appreciated Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in Control anymore. You need me.” The dwarf says smugly baring his teeth in a way Dark Moon recognizes as what the  _ unionsyth  _ call a smile. He knows in theory it’s supposed to be friendly gesture but it still looks too much like a threat to him. Cassandra turns away with a disgusted noise.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,"  the elf says, breaking the tension.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric quips.

“You are able to manipulate the magic of the mark with surprising ease. Have you seen something like this before?” he asks, trying to understand, but not give away how much he knew.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra replies instead of the elf.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas says before addressing him. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade. Far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.” He again cocks his head in thoughtful confusion. Partially because he didn’t recognize quite a few of the words, but also to puzzle over the ones he did.  _ The magic is his. That’s clear enough from the way they carry the same underlying song and feel. But this is not what he wanted considering the sincerity in his tone towards closing the Breach. Even if he won’t take responsibility, he legitimately wishes to fix things. _

“That is a surprisingly... nice decision,” he says. ‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly the right word, he would prefer  _ glodwiw  _ or  _ dewr _ , but he couldn’t think of the Common word for them.

“Merely a sensible one. Although sense appears to be in short supply right now.” The elf smiles at him politely and he huffs a pleased noise that could be likened to  _ unionsyth  _ laughter.

“I couldn’t agree more.”  _ More than any of you could possibly understand even. _

“Cassandra, you should know: the magic here is unlike any I have seen,” the elf continues to the human. He blinks in surprise, it was mostly the truth.  _ His magic was corrupted then.  _ “Your prisoner is a mage, but i find it difficult to imagine  _ any  _ mage having such power.”  _ Now that was a direct lie. _

“Understood. We should get to the forward camp quickly.” Cassandra nods and begins to head down the path.

“Well, Bianca’s excited,” Varric says.

“Who?” he asks, following after the elf and human.

“My crossbow,” the dwarf says patting his weapon affectionately. “She’s a good companion for difficult situations. Speaking of names, what’s yours? I don’t think you mentioned.” He chuckles, knowing how the  _ unionsyth  _ would react to his name.

“ _ Ileuad Tywyll, _ ” he says, a eyes crinkling in mirth at the faces Varric and the others made. 

“Pardon?” Cassandra asks.

“ _lleuad Tywyll,_ ” he repeats the sighing and sibilant name, glad he could still pronounce it correctly. It would be embarrassing if he couldn’t say his own name. “It translates pretty closely to Dark Moon, if you would prefer.”

“Dark Moon, huh? Great story book name,” Varric says beaming up at him. He tenses up at what should be a threat, but forces himself to relax.  _ Smiles are not meant to show anger. _ He thinks forcefully to himself.

“What language was that? I’ll confess to have never hearing its like before this,” Solas asks. His temporarily little mood falls.

“While not really a secret, we tended to share it with very few outsiders. It has been many years since I have found anyone else who can speak it.” Thankfully before anyone could ask anymore prying questions they were beset by more demons. He decides to ignore the irony of him being glad of more demons. The fight was over fast, just a few simple shades and wisps that were no match for his lightning. While he had once enjoyed fighting, being as he was now added a level of danger and fear that wasn't there previously. To avoid injury now he had to be hyper vigilant and it was somewhat annoying. He smacks his lips at the remaining tingle of sparks jumped along his tongue. That too was more painful than he remembered, his new mouth was far less lightning proof apparently. 

“That is a very unique method of casting. I can not say I have ever seen someone fire storm magic from their mouth,” Solas remarks as they trek up the snowy slope.

“I’ve always found it is easiest for me to concentrate my magic in mouth,” he replies with a shrug.

“Used to dream of being a dragon, huh, Sparky?” Varric chuckles.

“Do not call me Sparky,” he growls back. Names held great importance to dragons. They represented all that a dragon was and would be. When so few things are said aloud a spoken name or title carries a great deal of weight. He was Dark Moon, and the One Who Dances in Storms, and The Last. He was Death Personified, not ‘Sparky’.

Varric just holds up his hands in surrender. “Not all of them can be winners. I’ll think of something better.” The dwarf peers up at him speculatively. “I have to ask,what did happen at the temple?”

“Everything is… hazy. I remember a great deal of pain, and now everything is different.” His back aches in mourning for his lost appendages and he is struck by the realization that he will never be able to fly like this. Varric is saying something else, but he can't be bothered to listen. He can't fly, and a ground dragon is a dead dragon. Not from any sort of predator or threat, but because flight was an essential part of him. His home was in the sky and he had seen how too long on the earth led to many dragons losing themselves in despair. It started with a deep depression, then spiraled into catharsis, and finally madness. 

“You still with us big guy?” Varric asks, poking him in the side. He jumps a little in surprise and quickens his step.

“We need to fix this as fast as we can,” he replies and charges ahead with single minded determination refusing to respond to anymore idle chatter.

The group stops again at another stone river crossing after he closes another hole in the world. It seems to be some sort of base for the  _ unionsyth  _ who were fighting, but he pays them little mind, hoping to simply travel on to the Breach. Cassandra however pulls him back as he tries to walk past the shouting  _ unionsyth  _ with the stupid thing on it’s head. The one from before was there as well, Leliana if he recalled correctly. 

“Chancellor Roderick, this is-” Leliana begins, but was interrupted.

“I know who he is,” it sneers up at him, but Dark Moon merely narrows his eyes in response. This Roderick reeked of fear and anxiety, and he knew better than to poke at a frightened animal. He instead let it prattle on about taking him away to be killed, hoping he can simply slip away once it has decided it’s in charge once again. Cassandra however is having none of that and teams up with Leliana to try and quash Roderick’s ego. He finds their manor of diplomacy odd, as he knows it to be better to simply nod and agree in the moment. Then later, he can go behind their back to accomplish his real goals. Finally however, it comes down to a choice between two paths to the Breach. Even stranger still, they look to him to the make the choice.

“We charge. There isn’t time to go the long way around,” he states, hardly needing time to choose. All he wanted was to be himself again and fly away from this disaster. Cassandra nods solemnly and addresses Leliana:

“Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.” As Leliana hurries off, Dark Moon’s party strides off in the opposite direction.

“On your head be the consequences, _ Seeker _ ,” Roderick sneers at their backs. Dark Moon merely rolls his eyes at the  _ unionsyth’s  _ antics. It was a fly, easily swatted if it became a hinderance, because no matter his form, Dark Moon was a dragon. And that meant he was strong, devastatingly so, and nothing could stand in his way. Straightening his back he forces his new awkward limbs to cooperate and stalks forward like the predator he is. When they reach the front lines he rolls his shoulders, flexes imaginary wings, bares sharp teeth, and plows into the fray.

In the frenzy of the battle, Dark Moon gave up on the flimsy piece of wood that poorly channeled his magic, and went all out with lightning, fists, and force magic. Finally the last demon falls and he raises his hand to the tear in the world and twisting it shut.

“Holy shit, Reaper! I am never going to be on your bad side,” Varric exclaims, coming up by his side.

“Reaper?” Dark Moon questioned cocking his head to the side as he tasted the new name.

“You mowed down a whole army of demons on your own. Better than Sparky?”

“Much better than Sparky. You may continue to call me this.” He turns and gives Varric a his best impression of a smile, before turning to continue to the Breach. He’s not really sure what a reaper is, but it sounds good. Behind him he hears Varric mutter something about terrifying ox-men showing emotion. It makes no sense to him, so he ignores it. Before he can leap off the ledge that led to the ruins below the Breach though, Cassandra stops him again to speak to someone.

“Dark Moon! This is the commander of our forces, Cullen Rutherford,” it says, gesturing at another  _ unionsyth  _ that looked to have part of a fuzzy pelt draped over its shoulders.

“I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot people getting you here,” it declares.

“If  _ they _ are saying I can close the holes in the world, than they are right, and I will fix that.” He says gesturing at the Breach. Cullen glares at him for some reason he can’t discern, before turning to Cassandra.

“The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“We will move quickly than. Give us time Commander,” Cassandra replies.

“Maker watch over you-for all our sakes,” the fuzzy one says before hurrying off to help an injured soldier limp away from the battlefield. Dark Moon watches him go for a moment, confused by his words. The so called gods were gone, there was no one else powerful who was going to help as far as he knew. Shrugging it off, he jumps down into the ruins

The place was a mess of debris and the charred bodies of those unfortunates caught in the explosion. They litter the area still frozen in their last moments of horror. The smell of charred flesh hangs heavy in the air causing his companions to wrinkle their noses in displeasure. It just reminds Dark Moon of how hungry he was.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas says solemnly as they proceed carefully forward.

“What’s left of it,” Varric adds.

Finally they round the last bend and before them looms the full might of the Breach. The vortex in the sky reaches down with what looks like violent green lightening towards a partially closed hole in the world.

“The Breach is a long way up…” Varric mutters.

Dark Moon spins as he hears footsteps coming from behind, and is met with the sight of Leliana and a group of soldiers jogging down the path.

“You’re here. Thank the Maker!” it proclaims, running up to Cassandra.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple.” Cassandra orders. Leliana nods and starts to direct her soldiers to strategic positions. Cassandra turns to him next.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?” it asks.

“The sooner all of this is over the better. I am ready,” he replies.

“That rift was the first. It is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach,” Solas says.

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful.” Cassandra declares. He nods and turns to follow the clearest path down and around. With the  _ tu hwn _ t bleeding heavily into their plane, magic dances about them and prickles along dark Moon’s skin. Even the stones around them hum with it and seemed to breath, flashing green with every exhale. Suddenly a voice rang out from the air around them:

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asks, worry and fear mixed equal parts in her voice.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas puts forth with far too much certainty for a simple guess. Dark Moon nearly turns to look at it in annoyance. If Solas knows they are the one who made the Breach, it  _ knows  _ who that is and is lying about it. If the elf wasn’t responsible though, why would it hide valuable information? 

As they descend closer, he notices more and more strange red crystals sprouting out from the area around the path. He tries his best to put as much distance between him and them as he could though, as they smelt of blight and the magic they gave off sang all wrong. Their sheer dissonance was magnified especially when heard next to the pure magic leaking out of the Breach. Something about them was familiar however, even though he could not seem to recall where he last seen them, they brought up the memory of pain.

“You know that’s red lyrium, Seeker,” Varric warns, gesturing to the crystals.

“I see it, Varric,” the human bites out in annoyance.

“But what’s it doing here?” the dwarf insists.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple. Corrupted it,” Solas adds his own perspective.

Varric spits on the dusty ground. “Well it’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” he growls.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dark Moon grumbles.

The ominous voice speaks out again. “Keep the sacrifice still!”

“Someone, help me!” Another mysterious voice shrills.

“ _ Newid fi yn ôl ! Bydd yn gwneud i chi farw gyflymach! _ ” Dark Moon’s own voice echoes back across the stones, but he had not spoken, nor could he remember ever speaking those words.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice! And you were there! What did you say?” Cassandra demands, stalking up to him, one hand going instinctively to the hilt of her sword.

“I said I was going to kill the lower voiced speaker. With more colorful words though.” He replies, only partially lying. 

“She called out to you...”

Not bothering to reply with answers he doesn’t have, Dark Moon jumps down to the lowest level of the ruins where the rest of Leliana’s soldiers are gathered to face the Breach. The magic in his hand crackles and reaches out for the rift before him, sparking against the magic in the air and igniting a memory.

“Someone, help me!” Who Dark Moon assumes was Justina hangs suspended by her arms with dark, crackling magic. Her face contorts in fear and anger as a larger darker shape looms over her.

“ _ Newid fi yn ôl ! Bydd yn gwneud i chi farw gyflymach!”  _ his voice rises again, and the memory shifts to show a qunari. Bound by chains it still took two shadowy figures to hold it back from rushing the one behind it all. Dark Moon stares at the qunari in confusion. Was that him?

“Kill the mistake. It is being too rowdy,” the deep-voiced perpetrator states with offhanded disgust. Suddenly the memory was engulfed in light and Dark Moon was forced to turn away.

Cassandra is the first thing he sees, rounding on him.“You were a prisoner! Who was that! And the Divine, is she… Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” she demands.

“I don’t remember!” he nearly shouts back mind reeling. “Everything is jumbled together!” 

“Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place,” Solas offers. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed....albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely draw attention from the other side.”

“That means demons!” Cassandra calls out to the soldiers. “Stand ready!” They all draw their weapons or knock their bows, moving to stand in a loose formation around the Breach. Dark Moon strides forward with Solas at his side.

“Take one of these before we begin. You will need the strength.” Solas says offering him a bottle. He uncorks it and sniffs warily. He recoils violently and drops the bottle.  _ Titan’s blood!  _ Were they trying to kill him?!

“What is the meaning of this?” He growls at the elf.

“It was just lyrium. To replenish your magic.” Solas answers in clear confusion and annoyance. It take out another bottle and downs the contents for itself. “See?”

“That’s what it does for you. It’s poison to me.” He shot back clearly startling Solas.

“ _ Ir abelas _ , I had no idea.”

Dark Moon merely shakes his head in irritation. “Just do not do it again.”

Taking a last deep breath to center himself, Dark Moon raises up his arm to the rift and pushes the magic of the mark into it. The rift flies open with a rush, pushing him back a few paces and spitting out a bolt of light that upon impact expands into the form of a massive pride demon. 

The gigantic demon roars a challenge to the gathered soldiers. Dark Moon draws himself up and roars back his own determination. It wasn’t quite as loud and draconian as it once was, but his true voice was still there and it rang out through the ruins.

The battle flies by in a flurry of purple and green lightning. It takes a few tries before he realizes that the rift could weaken the demon’s defenses, but once discovered, he falls into a rhythm with the soldiers that wore away quickly at the demon’s strength. Finally, the massive thing falls to the ground with a cry and Dark Moon raises his hand to the rift for what he hopes would be a final time. All he wants is for this to close the  Breach and make him normal again. He pours all his will into the mark, but before he realizes it, it starts to thirstily drain away his magic and strength. Even as he starts to fade he can feel it demanding more and more. He gives one final push of the last reserves of his  magic that pulses along his arm and out into the Breach. There is a mighty explosion, and then his vision fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, I should be writing To Start Again, and yet here I am. I've always had a special place in my heart for my poor confused draconian son, and now he gets his own story. So far I haven't decided if I'm going to write everything, or just bits and pieces, but you guys can let me know if you're even interested at all. If anyone wants to know what Dark Moon looks like he was a highland ravager, but with Arishok horns. He was blue-purple in color with accents of black and lilac. There is also a picture I drew that's on my Tumblr Steam-Powered-Dragon.  
> Also a big thanks to my friend who turned into a beta for this story Jubb-Jubb.
> 
> ~Welsh/Draconian~ (Please keep in mind I just used google translate)  
> unionsyth: upright  
> tu hwnt: beyond  
> glodwiw: commendable  
> dewr: courageous  
> Newid fi yn ôl ! Bydd yn gwneud i chi farw gyflymach!: Change me back! It will make your death faster!
> 
> ~Elvish~  
> Ir abelas: I'm sorry


End file.
